


Inked Stories

by Gadhar



Category: The Expendables (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:12:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4130739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gadhar/pseuds/Gadhar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s never asked about the scars. Has even made a point not to. He has his own scars after all, enough to last a lifetime, maybe even multiple ones, and he never bothers to share their stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As usual I own nothing and blah blah blah

He' never asked about the scars. Has even made a point not to. He has his own scars after all, enough to last a lifetime, maybe even multiple ones, and he never bothers to share their stories. 

He rarely bothers to remember them. 

So he’s never asked. And he had thought he had seen them all, had thought that his hands had run over their lengths to the point where he could point out each individual one and tell you where they were by pure memory. 

And that was before they started sleeping together. 

When that started, Barney knew he could spend hours raving about the feel of Lee’s skin, spend hours with his hands smoothing over it, cataloging things he already knew but was never any less fascinated by. 

But he’s never seen these. They’re so faint and light, nearly white. Bleached skin really. 

Barney’s fingers coast over the lines again, there’s raised edges to it, thicker, deeper scars the more you follow the line down. And there’s a tension in Lee he can feel in himself, a kind of tension that sets his teeth on edge because it’s more than just tension. More than just the anticipation of something. It’s discomfort. Unease. Because Barney’s hands are touching him and Lee’s never had a problem with that, even before they started this. 

“What is this?” There’s an edge to his voice he had hoped to keep out, to hide away under the feeling of his other fingers tracing the bleached white lines, but the shaky hitch of Lee’s breath, the shiver of skin, chill against his fingers, shows how he failed at that. 

There’s a long silence, maybe just longer to Barney because his thoughts are racing, flying around in a blur of colors as pieces start to fall together— _He’s never seen the scars because Lee has never let him look at his back, never let his hands anywhere near there outside of bandaging and sex and it’s hard to see bleached white lines when you’re trying to ignore all the blood and grime or when you’re drowning in the feeling that is Lee_ —and seam themselves into an unsettling picture. A picture of secrets and lies and he won’t pretend he’s told Lee everything about himself because he hasn’t but they both know everything that’s important about each other or at least he thought they did but this feels pretty damn important and he doesn’t know about this at all.

Barney doesn’t know if Lee could feel his own tensing muscles through where his hand— _fingers tracing absently over bleached white lines that are not smooth at all. They’re rough and uneven and...bad_ —still rests on Lee’s back but the quietness has gotten a new jagged edge, one that digs into Barney’s conscience and keeps Lee silent, and eventually he presses down hard, enough to hurt, enough to draw a low hiss from Lee, and the eyes that turn on him are clear and distant, not fuzzy. Not fuzzy and hazy like they usually are when they lay together and Lee lets Barney breathe him in and feel him and just touch. They’re clear and Lee’s but not-Lee’s. Not-Lee’s in the way they’re too cold and pained. Not-Lee’s in the way they shutter his thoughts, his feelings from Barney. They’re not-Lee. 

“I’m getting in the shower,” is all Lee says and those eyes shutter again, open his face enough so Barney sees the flash of pleading— _let this go, forget it, please_ —and then the danger, the warning, that follows soon after before the eyes shut everything away again and that same silence descends with those same not-Lee eyes staring through him. 

Lee rolls away from him and off the bed, bare feet silent on the floor— _even though it’s old and should creak and this is all not right. Not right_ —as he pads over to the shower. 

Barney rolls over himself, staring up at the ceiling with the sound of running water echoing in the room and he thinks about how Lee has never lied to him before.

 

 

“Depends on the tattoo honestly,” Tool says and he’s buzzing his needle the same way he takes drags off his pipe; all in deep concentrated thought. “You’re not looking to undo any of my work, are ya?”

And if there’s just a touch of threat in that voice, in those eyes that are staring at him concerned, Barney ignores it. “Just...what would it look like?”

Tool hums and actually sets the needle to Barney’s skin, buzzing around letters in thick black ink. “Well, a small one would have less scarring, maybe even none. The skin might be a little pale. Sometimes there’s an outline left, just this patch of skin that’s redder than the rest. Occasionally there might be some faded blues and red, leftover pigments. Black tattoos are the hardest really. The pigment is so deep in the skin, so dark, and the deeper it is...” Tool smacks his lips, dabs at Barney’s back and then makes that noise low in his throat that always makes Barney think it was a bad idea to let Tool just doodle out whatever he wanted on his back. 

Especially without seeing the design or knowing anything about what it is.

“Now where was I, oh right, black tats man those are a bitch, the scarring they leave, especially if the ink was big and deep, tends to lean more towards the bleached white appearance, almost like a brand. That shit’s sensitive too, like some knife wounds you know?”

Barney has a flash of Lee’s face and that cutthroat smile. 

“So brother, are you planning on removing my stuff?”

“No.” There’s a light of pain right in the middle of his back and he starts to think Tool’s getting too close to the other tats, maybe incorporating them into some larger mural or maybe just going _over_ them, and he doesn’t really like the thought of either. “It’s Lee.”

And he doesn’t know why he says that because maybe everything he’s worrying about isn’t worth it and he should just shut up but now he’s went and piqued Tool’s curiosity and that by itself means he can’t just ignore this and let the feeling of disquiet that’s settled in his soul alone.

“Christmas? You telling me the boy had work done by someone other than me?” Tool sounds utterly put out. 

“No it’s...old. I think.”

“Old? He shouldn’t have a mark on his skin past the trademark. Brother still owes me a tattoo from that game.” The needle clicks off, it’s constant buzzing strangely missed in the following quiet. He supposes Tool’s done for the day. “I just remembered something.” 

“Got a girl waiting in a bed for you somewhere?” 

“Heh, unfortunately not. No, actually,” He snaps off his gloves after setting the needle down, heading over towards the phone. “Someone called earlier for your boy, only left a number. You give that to him yeah?”

Barney tucks the scrap of paper away, rolling his eyes at the look Tool’s giving him. “He’s not my boy.”

“Sure he is, Barney. Now, I’ve gotta rework your design a bit.”

“You didn’t mess it up did you?”

“No, no, just ran into a small problem. You tell Christmas I’m working on something real nice for that dome of his.”

 

 

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother him when Lee had things going on that Barney didn’t know about. _You’re a control freak, you idiot. You don’t trust anyone,_ Lee had said and he had snapped right back with _I trust you_ and that had been the first time both of them had actually looked at each other and acknowledged whatever it was they had between them. 

Part of it is the control thing. He’s never liked feeling helpless. Too many things have been out of his control, things that were bad. Things that he had no hope to stop and there had been nothing reassuring about that at all, there had been no salvation in that feeling, no freedom from guilt. And he doesn't want anything happening to his team—or Lee—that he can't control.

The second part is just that. He doesn't want anything to happen to Lee. Ever. Not in a million years. Not even if it was the only way to save everyone else. That...losing Lee, he has no doubt, would be too much. Had been even before they got together. It was probably more unbearable now that he's had a taste. He knows, deeply, what he had been missing for years, what he had given up on—the same thing Lee had been searching for.

Barney stares at the paper and considers trashing it for the millionth time. He's not sure what it is—if it had been something Tool had said or if it was leftover agitation over the scars Lee never showed him—but he has a bad feeling about it. This number and whoever is on the other end. He rather throw it away, pretend it never came. Even deal with Lee's wrath when he would undoubtedly find out and have one of his little freakouts.

Barney smiles, it'd be worth it, just for that, to see Lee go on a tangent. But it isn't his business to hide things from Lee, to protect him from things he's not even sure are threats.

So when Lee ambles his way through the kitchen, shirtless and work-out warmed, reaching into the fridge for a bottle of the strange herbal Tibetan shit he likes, Barney slides in next to him, brushing his lips over an ear in the barest hint of a kiss.

"Message for you." He sets the paper on the counter where Lee can read it, moving around him and sliding his arms underneath Lee's. It's a petty attempt to distract, on some level. Hope that maybe Lee will ignore the stupid paper that has Barney stupidly worried and just let Barney take him back to bed, make up for fucking things up this morning.

But it won’t work, Lee can be, if anything, infuriatingly focused when he wants. So Barney just nuzzles the back of his neck, takes in the smell of Lee soaked in sweat and the stirring of arousal in his gut as his mind plays through imagines of Lee flipping around on that mat like a goddamn acrobat. 

There’s a slight contraction of muscles, Lee’s whole body holding stiff, not even long enough to be a moment, just a fraction of time, quick as a flinch, nowhere near as violent, and then he relaxes again, carefully, measured. Barney makes a point to not stop what he’s doing, mouthing his way around to litter kisses on the side of Lee’s neck. “Everything good?”

“Yeah...s’just...” Lee leans back into him and Barney takes his weight, that worm of fear trying to squirm it’s way up his throat again but he bites it back. It’s just a stupid piece of _paper._ “Old friends.”

Lee says ‘old friends’ the way someone might say ‘root canal’, and if that doesn’t just push Barney right towards that protective neanderthal mode. 

“You gonna call them?” 

Lee leans forward, pulls away from Barney and Barney lets him go. Lets him fold up the piece of paper into a neat little square. “Maybe. I’m going to change. We got to go to Tool’s, right?”

“Not for another two hours, or so.” 

“Then maybe you should come with.”

 

 

Barney pushes Lee against the tile wall, mouth on the side of his throat, Lee’s hand around both their cocks, jerking– _fuck!_ He can feel that burning pleasure riding up from his balls and he groans into Lee’s skin, Lee’s hand twisting in his hair and pulling his mouth back up to Lee’s; teeth clashing together, tongues sliding together. 

The water from the shower-head is hot, steaming up the stall, and Barney can hardly breathe from that heat let alone what’s firing along every inch of his skin, keeping his chest tight. Lee’s hand twists a certain way and Barney grunts, falling forward a little and barely catching himself on the stall. 

_“Fuck– Me–”_ Lee bites out the words and his nails dig into Barney’s back, head thumping against the tile and Barney huffs, nose against Lee’s cheek, hips thrusting up and Christ the friction—

Lee’s tongue flicks out and catches the lobe of his ear, the spike of lust shooting through Barney like an arrow—more intense from just that simple move—and he chokes out a guttural ‘love you’ into Barney’s neck, need crumbling his voice into a raspy mess. 

Barney closes his eyes, pushes Lee even tighter against the wall, keeps him still and in place and upright and ruts even harder, so fucking close and he says ‘love you’ back to meet the full strung tense muscle of Lee’s body as he comes, letting Barney go on to the sounds of groans turned pants and then Barney’s coming, white splattering their stomachs and fighting against the rush of water from above. 

Lee’s head rolls to look at him, eye blinking vainly against the water, small curled smile. “Next time more lube, yeah?”

Barney snorts, running lazy lips across Lee’s temple, still leaning on him. “Ha, yeah, water doesn’t work as well as we thought.”

“ _You_ thought, you mean.”

“Pretty sure shower sex was your idea, babe.”

“Not like you were saying no.”

Barney shook his head, hand reaching back to turn the faucet up hotter, the water was a bit too far past chilly for his tastes. “You want shower first?”

“You can stay. Just stay _there_ until the water’s warmer, fuck if I’m taking a cold shower.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Small island in South America, simple bust in, dismantle the administration, get out.”

“Sounds like Vilena,” Lee says as he slips back into the room, dropping his cellphone onto the bar top.

“Yeah, well this time we don’t have Church up our ass.” 

Lee snorts at Toll’s comment, leaning back and gripping the bartop tight; bones and veins taut against skin. 

_Anxious,_ Barney thinks and makes the minute shift back on his stool, letting his arms stretch out behind him, moving so he can press a hand to Lee’s back, ever so slightly, out of the watchful eyes of Tool and the guys. He doesn't smile despite feeling Lee relax slightly. “What’s so wrong with this administration?”

Tool snorts, fingers dipping in quotations “‘Administration’ is a poor word choice from what I can see. Lady’s a dictator–”

“Hold up, it’s a chick!?”

“Girls can be murderous dictators too Caesar, don’t be a sexist fuck.”

“I’m _not,_ it just hurts my soul deep down. Beautiful ladies being dictators. I bet she’s beautiful. She’s beautiful isn’t she, Tool?”

“Not my place to judge brother. But if I were–”

“She could be fucking Venus, it doesn’t matter. Are we taking her in or–?” Barney really does hope there’s an or. He’ll do the job either way, but killing is becoming something he has even less inclination to do as the years go by.

“They’re charging her with crimes, island’s own laws or something. But if push comes to shove...”

“When we going in boss?”

“Wheels up dawn tomorrow. We’ll prep today. Tool?”

“I’ll let ‘em know. Half now, half later.”

They disband, just like that, Caesar and Toll leave, throwing back a ‘we’ll call Gunner’ and Barney knows they’re going to be prepping weapons for the rest of the day, he and Lee have the plane and—

“Where you going?” Barney catches Lee’s wrist as the Brit makes for the door, hands clenched tight. 

“I gotta make another call,” he says but he’s not looking at Barney, _won’t_ look even. So Barney lets him go, flinches at the slamming door and stares at the spot Lee was. 

“He all right?” Tool says from somewhere behind him and his hand slips onto Barney’s shoulder. 

“I don’t know.” 

 

 

Lee sucks in a breath, closing his eyes, bracing himself against the wall— _why the fuck now?_

“ _Christ_.” 

Lee pushes his forehead into the wall at the sound of Barney’s voice. _Shit._ Part of him wants to send something else flying at the wall. Something that will break into even more pieces than the damn cellphone. The other part’s pretty content to just curl up and die right now. Neither wants to talk to Barney.

“What the hell, Lee?” 

Lee takes in another breath, this one more steadying than anything, and turns to find the mostly together cell in Barney’s hand, the man’s eyes serious. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? It’s been ‘nothing’ that’s had you on edge all fucking day? Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not, it’s just– it’s not important, okay?”

Barney frowns at him, crossing his arms with that same disapproving look that reminds Lee too much of his childhood. “I get that we have an emergency phone supply, and I get that both of us have enough anger issues to drive three different therapists crazy but that doesn’t mean you can just go destroying them without telling me why. This is about that fucking number isn’t it?”

“What number?” He knows it doesn’t come off innocent, knows that everything out of his mouth is one stupid, faulty bullshit lie after another but this is definitely something he doesn’t want Barney fucking involved in. 

“Don’t, Lee. Don’t you even start. You know what the hell I’m talking about.”

“So what if I do? So what if it does have to do with the fucking phone number. It’s none of your goddamn _business_.”

“What the fuck is your problem?”

 _Breathe Christmas, Jesus Christ, what is your fucking problem?_

“Leave it alone Barney, please.”

“Leave it alone? Lee you’ve been shut off all fucking day except for when I had my tongue down your damn throat. And let me tell you that’s not a great time to talk about– well whatever the hell is going on with you. If you don’t want to talk about the damn secret phone calls you’ve been making then talk about what happened this morning.”

 _Nothing happened,_ he wants to say but stops himself. That’d be stupid. And insensitive—trivializing Barney’s feelings, his fucking irritating intuition when it came to Lee—but mostly stupid. “Leave it.”

“Leave it.” Barney repeats. “Leave it?” He says again, and again, each time more disbelieving, more angry. Except it isn’t the righteous anger you get from Barney fucking Ross when you’ve done him wrong; that kind of fury was hot, boiling and washing over everything in its path. This is cold anger; the kind you only get from deep emotions. The kind that makes you a controlled psychopath. The kind that is a cold precise pointed bullet that’s aiming at one thing and one thing only and there is no escape. And that’s when Lee realizes that Barney’s been fighting this all day. That it wasn’t an ‘oh he’s a bit off today. He’ll straighten up though’ kind of thought but a fucking festering wound of worry that he’s had going for hours and no wonder the dumbass is pissed, getting himself so fucking _worked up._

“I’m handling it. It’s not important. It doesn’t affect the team or you or us. Just let me handle it.”

“Anything that affects you, affects me, Lee. It affects _us._ ”

“Not if you don’t _let it,_ Barney. Look we have a mission tomorrow so how about we focus on that and we–”

“That mission doesn’t start until I say it does. And there isn’t anyway I’m letting you even get one step away from me until you tell me what has you got you so goddamned tense.”

“I’m not tense–”

“You’re clenching your fists. You’re already throwing shit. Don’t tell me you’re not fucking tense.”

 _Christ._

He forces his hands to unclench, forces himself back against the wall and closes his eyes. Too many times today he’s tried to draw on old teachings. Simple meditation techniques, the more complex ones, hell he’s gone through three different countries teachings and he can’t get his brain to settle, can’t get his breathing normal. He’s been on edge all day and now—now that edge was a fire that was licking across his skin and it felt good in the same way it felt bad and he couldn’t find a way to douse it, hadn’t been able to cool it, even a little and it had just been so much easier to let it rage and turn his vision red, fill his muscles with the raw power of wrath and he hadn’t planned on stopping at the phone, hadn’t really been planning because the harder it was to breathe the tighter his chest was and the more the anger took over and the more he wanted to destroy and when he destroyed it just–

Suddenly his chest loosened, body shuddering as a shaky breath forced it’s way out and Barney was there, hand on Lee’s chest, face close, and the other hand was cupping Lee’s jaw. _Fucking bastard,_ Lee thought. But he couldn’t help the sag of relief against the wall, the anger was still there, slowly sapped away along with all the boisterous strength he had a minute ago. All sapped away by Barney’s touch. The flames smothered into little more than ash. 

Barney’s finger was stroking the soft skin under his ear, and Lee leaned into the touch, sighing. Fucker knew all his weak spots. 

“Better?” Rough voice, close and nearby, Lee can almost feel it rumble in his chest. He gave a rueful grin in response. “Alright, so tell me what is going on, please Lee.”

“I...” Lee swallows, leaning more into Barney’s touch to keep himself grounded, to stay in the bubble of love Barney seemed to be able to create with a simple gesture. Another reason Lee loved him, the man could so easily temper the fire, push back the tide. “I don’t want to talk about it. I mean, I can’t. Not now. Not...Let me sort it in my head. Just this once Barney listen to me. I need to figure it out on my own. It’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s not even life threatening it’s just that– it’s something I need to figure out how to deal with. Alone. Just this once, okay?”

Barney doesn’t pull from him even though he should, even though Lee almost needs him to because it’s too hard to be angry, too hard to be anything really when Barney’s still stroking away; soft gentle touches. Smooth. The kind that sends a warmth spreading over Lee’s body. “Alright.”

And then he finally pulls away. Stepping far back enough that Lee catches Tool’s distant eyes over his shoulder and Lee absently wonders how long the tattooist had been standing there. “But anything that gets you like this Lee is bad. Real bad.” 

 

 

He keeps his mouth shut. Because Lee asked and only because _Lee asked._ He didn't say anything to Tool as they left for the hangar and he didn't say anything the entire time they prepped the plane. He even made a decent effort to pretend like everything was normal; let Lee do his little OCD cleaning and checking of everything without a word, cracked a couple of jokes, and returned every kiss and then some. 

He kept his mouth shut and he’s keeping it shut now but right now, at this exact freaking moment, it’s becoming insanely hard. The flight itself is taking a couple hours, and though Barney usually never has a problem entertaining himself with the view, both inside and outside the cockpit, he’s having a problem now. Every time he looks over at Lee the Brit’s own obvious unease ratchets up Barney’s and apparently the two of them have nothing better to do than sit here and drive themselves crazy with whatever the hell is worrying them. 

Cause something is definitely worrying Lee. 

“I can’t do this,” Barney says and he flicks on the autopilot because right now it’s clear skies with no turbulence out there and a helluva lot of it in here with dark stormy skies Barney needs to navigate through. 

The look Lee gives him isn’t quizzical and thank god it isn’t because Barney would be tempted to punch him if he just pretended nothing was going on again; if he even said it. If anything the look’s more...dejected. Resigned. Well he should fucking know Barney can’t leave it alone. It’s not in him to do that. 

“Barney–”

“No, just– I’m not asking. I swear.”

“No?”

“No, I’m fucking demanding. I’m gonna drive myself crazy just sitting here, thinking about it.”

“Can’t you just not think about it?” 

Barney snorts, turns in his seat fully to watch Lee. “What do you think?”

“I think it shouldn’t be this hard to get some damn privacy. I thought you trusted me?” That would hurt, any other time. Any other time where Lee doubted how much Barney trusted him. But now it’s near meaningless. Lee’s throwing up walls of net, so easy for Barney to cut through and Barney doesn’t know if that’s because Lee _wants_ him to help, somewhere deep down—some subconscious crap—or if Lee’s really that at a loss. Or worse, that shaken.

“Don’t even pull that bullshit Lee, you know I do. And you can have as much damn privacy as you want Lee, just tell me, say the goddamn word and I’ll leave you alone. But don’t expect me not to try, I’ve done fucked up enough in the past to not even fucking _try._ ” It was easy to keep the anger out of his voice, to keep the volume at a level that wouldn’t draw the ears of the guys in the back. Easy because more than anything he just wanted Lee to talk to him. Irrational fear, is what it was. Fear that in one move he’d send both of them spiraling back to where they started; alone and cold, trying to kill themselves on a favored poison and ignoring what was right there in front of them.

Lee’s head falls back against the headrest and his eyes close and Barney waits, recognizes the signs that say Lee’s trying to get his mind to slow down, to run in something closer to an ordered manner. A few moments pass before Lee’s eyes flicker open, flashing silver in the sun. 

“The phone number is a cell, probably a fucking burner but the area code...Anyway the guy on the other end of it, hell I guess he’s a burner too. Arsonist,” Lee clarifies at Barney’s look. “I haven’t seen or talked to him since...shit, had to be right after my second tour in the Gulf when things got bad. Real bad. The war was over but,” Lee laughs, mirthless and empty, hand covering his mouth as he turns to stare out the window. “God, the shit I did Barney. Didn’t have my head on right, probably wasn’t even on period, really. Especially after. When they forced me out I– I went back home. Found nothing there. Ended up running with a questionable crowd. Just like old times, at first. LIke it was back when I was a kid, selling cheap knockoffs and stolen tv’s. Stupid shit. And then it got...it got weird. Real fast and I was so fucked up I didn’t even notice. This guy...this guy who called me. He was a part of that. I don’t know what he wants. Why...Barney the way it ended...why he’s calling me, after all this time makes no sense.”

“Who have you been calling then?” Because there’s no way Lee would be sitting on this damn plane right now if he’d already called this ghost of the past back. Which meant he hadn’t even called yet. 

“Others that were...” Another hard swallow, Lee’s fingers clenching on the armrest. “Involved. Ones that got out, like I did.”

“And what do they say?”

“That this guy didn’t get out. That he...Barney, I don’t know why he’s calling me.” 

Barney would love to give him an answer because there’s a sudden softness to Lee’s jaw that Barney has long learned to associate with a certain amount of vulnerability, of confusion and need to know where to go. But from what Lee’s telling him—hell he’s not even sure what Lee _is_ telling him. He just knows it’s not good. None of it. And this fucker, whoever he is, that’s calling Lee...Barney doesn’t know anything else but he knows he’ll kill this bastard if he gets the chance. It’s a deep seated certainty and it’s a decision that comes more like an instinct, like breathing. 

“Is that good enough?” Lee finally says and he’s staring at Barney now, mouth drawn, face tired. It’s not what he said that has him exhausted, it’s the memories. Memories of whatever happened and they’re the silver that’s glinting in Lee’s eyes now. 

“I don’t know, is it?” He can tell Lee’s floundering, unsure what to do. And without all the facts there’s not much Barney can do. He’s glad he has a little bit of information, yeah, but unless Lee lets him there’s nothing he can do with it. It’s settled his nerves enough, has the planning faction of his mind fired up but they’ll only go farther if Lee wants them too. 

Lee nods, “For now.” 

Barney turns in the seat, checks the instruments and the skies. Still a few more hours of smooth sailing, or rather flying. “For now,” Barney repeats and flicks off the autopilot.


End file.
